


Across the Sound

by ditchwitch323



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DCU, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics), Poison Ivy (Comics)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby, Angst, Bisexual Harley Quinn, Drama, Drug Use, F/F, Harley/Joker is minimal, Jazz Age, Mutual Pining, POV Harley Quinn, POV Poison Ivy, Partying, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Swearing, Swing Dancing, harlivy - Freeform, maybe smut?, one stupid pun, red diamond, self indulgent, straight ripping off Fitzgerald, this is all based on a pun, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditchwitch323/pseuds/ditchwitch323
Summary: While working for the illustrious "Mr. Jay," Harley Quinn crosses paths with Gotham newcomer Pamela Isley.The Harley Quinn/Great Gatsby AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 23
Kudos: 67





	1. Harley Rambles and Pam Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine has me feeling v. melodramatic, so here's... this. 
> 
> I'm new to the Harlivy/DCU space, so characterizations may not be perfect. 
> 
> Updates will be sparse and sporadic... I'm really not sure what my schedule will be.

In my younger and more vulnerable years, my daddy gave me some advice that’s been rollin’ around my noggin ever since:

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And if you can’t join ‘em, fuck ‘em.” 

But my daddy was a raging asshole, and that shit advice ain’t relevant to this story at all.

This story starts in the summer. 

It was 1922 and I was leasing a cute little cottage in West Egg. “Leased” is a loose term because, strictly speaking, I didn’t sign any papers. Nothin’ that could be traced, you see. Mr. Jay had insisted on that. 

It was a nice place. The roof leaked some when it rained -- never too bad -- I only woke up drenched once (and it ain’t like I haven’t had wet dreams before). 

Jay took good care ‘a me. He had a butler drop off a basket at my door every morning with fruit and bread that wasn’t too stale -- usually leftovers from the night before. So every morning when I woke up (which was usually after noon), I’d take an apple, pear, or whatever that day’s delivery was – and walk down to the beach. 

My section was right next to Mr. Jay’s. Much smaller, but I loved it. While his was all smooth white sand, the weeds overtook mine a bit and the beach was sharp with shells, but luckily -- dandelions never bothered me and I’ve got tough feet from runnin’ gravel roads barefoot as a kid. 

There was a little rickety dock that stretched into the bay. I’d sit on that while I had my apples, then see how far I could throw the core into the water. I bet I fed lotsa fish that summer. Sometimes I’d watch Mr. Jay take his boat out with his pals and their broads. His laughter would carry over to my dock and I’d stare into the blue and spin ideas about what it was that was so funny. I’d find out later. 

After my snack I’d go for a swim, and after the swim I’d stretch out on the sand. By then the sun was high and hot, hovering overhead like a threat or a promise, depending on my mood. I fell asleep there lotsa times there in the heat. Of course, that meant I got a nice fuckin’ sunburn every now and then. One of those times was a couple weeks into June, and it was the first night at one of Mr. Jay’s parties that I met her. And god, in those light, the way she -- 

I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. 

I’d been workin’ for Mr. Jay for two or three months by then and we had a nice thing goin’. I’d find the leads – bootleggers, smugglers, folks lookin’ for money -- and lure ‘em in. See, before he brought me on, Mr. Jay made sure I could play all the parts. The doll. The ditz. The whore. It was the same ending every time, just a different show. It was fun at first, but then I started getting lost. 

Anywho, I’d find ‘em and make ‘em feel safe, then Mr. Jay and his pals would come in and catch ‘em with their pants down (sometimes figuratively, sometimes not). If they cooperated, they could come to the parties. If not… well, sometimes I’d partake in the fun, but blood is hard to get outta my dresses, so I usually skipped when the Tommy’s came out. 

The day of the sunburn. I’d had a particularly good week and got Mr. Jay half a dozen new contacts – some bootleggers in New Orleans that were real tough cats that would help him make the Gotham liquor flow double. We knew that night would be a blow-out. 

He was real wound up about that party. Some bird named Wayne from East Egg was s’posed to be in attendance and Mr. Jay wanted to make a good impression. He’d even had a new dress sent over – this little black sparkly number with red lace -- not too revealing, but enough to tease, ‘cuz we didn’t know what kinda women Wayne preferred. Ya see I was s’posed to be the siren that night – as the richest person in Gotham, he was a guy we wanted on our side. If we had him, Mr. Jay would be untouchable. 

So I put on the little sequined dress, painted my cheeks rosy and my lips dark, and walked over to Mr. Jay’s. 

The party was already in full swing and I could see the lights through the trees on my path. Meister had the band goin’ good and I already wanted to dance. I already wanted to throw myself into someone and laugh and blame it on the gin. I already wanted to scamper along on the smooth beach and run right into the Sound, to let it chill my warm blood until someone on shore screamed for me – and then I’d run back, soaking, shivering – and grow warm again with more dancing and more laughing and more gin. 

But I hadn’t even gotten there yet. I tried to focus, to remember there was a job to do that night, but the lights and the music were so beautiful. 

•••

My immediate impression of Gotham was death. It was humid the day I arrived and sweat beaded the back of my neck while I waited and watched: hurried men pulling their wives along to the next Event, young women squealing at the sight of one another, dirty children hovering by corners waiting for a rich pocket to pick. 

The people took after their city. The buildings were congested, knit together with black pavement and concrete. Any space between them was taken by the taxis and cars, spewing smog into the air where skyscrapers reached for breath. 

My eyes fell to a dandelion pushing its way up through the stone platform where I stood. For a moment, I thought about reaching for a deeper meaning behind the obstinate weed forcing itself through the crack… but it was too hot, and my ride was here. 

I’ll admit, their faces did improve my mood. Bruce loaded my luggage into the trunk while I climbed into the blue coupe’s backseat. Selina turned from the front and grasped my hand. 

“How was the ride in? You look wonderful dear, obviously. Doesn’t she look wonderful, Bruce?” 

“Gorgeous,” he echoed. 

We passed a slow sedan and got on the main street. Bruce had the top down, so the heat was bearable, but I had to keep my hand on my hat the whole ride – and I knew every curl would be knotted by the time we reached the manor – a problem neither of my hosts would have with their cropped cuts. 

Selina yelled above the engine. “We heard a rumor about you, Pam. I have a bet with Bruce it isn’t true.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“That you’re engaged. Going to marry some boy from Iowa.” 

I don’t know if I laughed or gagged at that, but I thrust my left hand over the seat and let it dangle in front of Selina. “You win.” 

She giggled and pulled my hand to show Bruce. “See? No ring. I was right.” 

“His name was Charles. He took me dancing twice,” I explained. “I feel bad for him, actually. He’s fine looking, but just unbearably dull. I could predict what he was going to say to me within 10 minutes of meeting him.” 

Bruce surprised all of us by speaking. “I think you’re the problem, Isley. You’re too smart for all these men. You could run circles around all of them.” 

That was the only unprompted compliment he’d ever given me. 

“Well, too bad for me. If only I was a fool.” 

Ten minutes later, we were out of the city and on our way to somewhere much, much worse. 

I’d learn later that stretch of land was called the “Valley of Ashes,” which was nearly a literal description, as it was completely grey and overwhelmingly lifeless. It was the industrial district: nestled between Gotham Proper and the coastal beaches of the rich, a sort of purgatory of smog and heat. Factories churned smoke day and night and the air was filled with the turning of metal: gears, machinery, and the train the passed through four times a day. And, over it all, there was an unmissable advertisement – a monument to the greed the whole thing stood for: 

The eyes of Mr. O. C. Cobblepot. 

It was a massive, looming sight, paper faded and peeling from years in the sun. It had no face – no shape besides those two black eyes – and a monocle over one. It leered over its domain, and no matter where you were in the valley, its gaze was unbroken. 

I tried not to look at it. 

We’d stopped at the tracks while passengers boarded when Selina said something almost as horrible as our surroundings. 

“Hope you brought nice rags. We’re going to a party tonight.” 

“That isn’t funny.” 

“I’m serious, doll. Bruce has business with some new big shot. What’s his name again? Mr. Jay… Gat…Gatz?” 

Bruce spoke up. “Jay Gatsby.” 

“That’s right. Mr. Jay Gatsby.” 

The train creaked back to life and our conversation paused while it passed on. I think Selina timed it out that way – so I couldn’t immediately protest. But I did my best once Bruce started driving again. 

“I didn’t come to Gotham to go to parties, Selina.” 

“Of course not.” She waved me off. “But you’re here all summer, and we are your hosts. I think you can indulge us for an evening.” 

God damn it.


	2. Chapter 2: The (first) Party

The Flu was three years ago. The last sick joke of the War was to send it home – and the virus didn’t care if you were Allied or Axis. 

I had recluse tendencies before, but that year made them infinitely stronger. Finally there was an excuse to _not_ go out – and not only an excuse – but a civic duty. I tended my greenhouse and gardens, read the latest dime novels, and stumbled upon an antidote for the Flu. Naturally, I struck a deal with Bruce: Gotham would stop dumping sewage into the harbor in exchange for the formula.

He hemmed and hawed about it, which was really astounding. _Both_ were actions that would help the people, but I guess finding a different dumping ground was an inconvenience for the great Mr. Wayne. But, he did give in, and the nightmare ended.

Cities came back to life. People stopped wearing masks and started dancing again. The invisible fog that seemed to creep into every corner receded, and within a month humanity had returned to its previous habits – both good and ugly. 

But I had retreated into myself during the quarantine, and I stayed there. I stayed with my plants, my novels, my thoughts. The Flu taught me I didn’t need much else – certainly not people – to survive.

Besides my jaunts to the farmer’s market, I rarely spoke to anyone but Selina, who would telephone on Tuesdays from Gotham. She always wanted the latest gossip from Louisville and of course I never had it, which she’d chide me for weekly. Looking back, I’m sure she knew I wouldn’t have thrilling updates for her. Maybe she was trying to gently prod me out of my hermit state. Maybe she just knew I needed some form of contact to hold onto my humanity.

That must be why she invited me for the summer, though she claimed she needed an expert for their gardens (“Bruce’s man simply isn’t up to par like you are, dear”). Even my iron will couldn’t resist the temptation of landscaping an estate with an unlimited budget. So I’d gotten on the train to Gotham, ready for a quiet summer.

After the Flu, I’d spent the last three years in near total isolation. And now, not fifteen minutes into my supposedly “quiet” Gotham summer, Selina tells – no, _declares_ – that we’re going to a party.

The absolute bitch. 

It was 11 when we arrived. At night.

There was a long line of cars up to the mansion. Lampposts lined the road, flooding the drive with so much light it could’ve been the afternoon.

I adjusted my curls and tried to push away the nauseous tingle growing larger as we neared. “This Mr. Gatsby must be rich as sin.”

Selina smirked and I remembered my current company. “Relatively speaking. 

Our car reached the front of the line. Bruce tossed the keys to a valet in a purple suit and we began our ascent up the polished marble steps. Selina studied every detail -- “must be trying to prove something with that new money of his” -- whether it was judgement or jealousy I still don’t know. 

If I had been queasy before, it was nothing to the sensation when the doors opened.

The place was packed. The sheer number of people nearly knocked me back, but Selina’s cool hand clamped on my arm and pulled me deeper. The music was loud – it _had_ to be to be heard over roaring crowd – and another purple-suited goon had champagne glasses in our hands before we were 10 paces in. The doors shut behind us quickly, like they feared the music and alcohol would leak out.

After tasting the champagne, I didn’t blame them. It was top shelf. 

It was a rare moment that I understood Selina’s draw to him, but Bruce did look graceful in his suit that evening. The crowd didn’t bother him a bit – and he smiled courteously at every Joe that wanted to shake his hand (“My God, it’s Mr. Wayne. How are you sir, how are you?”). His eyes raked over the assembly, searching.

“Oh, just go.” Selina waved him off. “We can entertain ourselves.”

“Are you sure?” 

He received a glare from both of us, but Selina watched him go with softness in her eyes.

She turned to me. “I do appreciate this.”

“You better.” I gave in and tried to relax. “I suppose I’ve missed you.”

She smiled knowingly and snuck two more champagne glasses of a passing tray.

We spent the next two hours making awful small talk. Selina had a good time with that -- she thrives on charm -- but I was exhausted after 10 minutes. The performance of it all was nauseating, an act everyone was in on but refused to drop. My feet hurt and I felt trapped by the sweaty bodies around me. I counted the seconds, trying to make time go faster by sheer will, but the night dragged on...

Finally, Selina took pity on me. “Go outside if you need, darling.”

I’d never loved her more than in that moment.

But my dreams of finding a quiet corner in the backyard were dashed immediately. For one thing, the “back yard” was an expansive lawn that stretched into the Bay. There was another, even more raucous band playing and dancers scattered themselves everywhere – on the large stone porch, between cocktail tables, out on the grass -- everywhere. The energy of the bass and drums was like an infection spreading among them.

My eyes flicked across the whole scene, taking it in fully: young men and women stripping and leaping into the pool, the athletic types stumbling drunkenly through volleyball games and footraces on the beach, the academics intent on thought leaning in with their cigars and self-serious expressions…

But then something else caught my gaze, and after that, my attention couldn’t be ripped from it. From her.

The blonde was twirling on a tabletop near the band. And when I say twirling, I mean _spinning_ – fast -- to the trumpet’s rhythm. Hands in her hair and hips teasing, around and around and around so the lights glinted off her dress like glass. Mid-rotation, she plucked a glass drink out of a passing man’s hand and drank it in one motion. He whirled to tell off the thief, but his mouth shut upon seeing her. She had the attention of every man in a 30-foot radius, and she knew it. She was _reveling_ in it. At the song’s climax, she tossed her head back, beaming at the dark sky. And after a moment… still spinning… she broke into laughter. Pure, gleeful, innocent laughter that nearly harmonized with the music. My chest tightened and I didn’t know why.

••• 

The Mr. Wayne fella was takin’ his sweet time arriving.

It’s not that I _meant_ to forget about my assignment. But at some point Harvey found me and demanded we dance. And who’s gonna say no to that face?

“You keep looking at the door, Harley.” He spun me out and twirled me back in. 

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh, am I boring you?” He threw me off balance – then caught me in a low dip and gave a devil’s grin.

I giggled. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

“Getting me another drink would help.”

“Oh, a secret then. Fine. Gin coming up.” He winked and sauntered off. I watched him for a moment – I’d always like the guy. Never tried anything funny but we had fun teasing each other.

But… I _was_ getting a little bored. And I started to wonder if this big-shot Bruce was ever gonna show, so I did what any sane person would do. I slipped away from Harvey and had a couple drinks.

Six. 

Two hours later, I was… _drunk._ And barefoot on top of a table.

_My lips are tingly. If I touch them they might fall off._

I bit down on one and smiled.

_I wonder where Dinah is. Usually she’s singin’ with the band. Maybe she’s inside. Dinah. Dinah Dinah Dinah._

The fabric of my dress grazed my back, sensitive from the sunburn – remember the sunburn? It was the one thing in that moment that was unpleasant, but then --

_Ooooh. Whiskey._

I leaned down and plucked a glass from some John’s hand.

_Oh, he didn’t like that. Like I give a shit._

I laughed and threw the drink back.

_The sky’s so pretty. I’m so small and the stars are so big._

The air was cool and magic and I was spinning. ‘Round and ‘round as fast as I could without falling. I let my fingers run through my hair and across my scalp, every sensation enhanced and dulled at the same time.

_Maybe if I spin fast enough, I’ll rise off the table. The music is already pulling me up. Maybe I could fly. Faster. Faster._

I was laughing, lost in it. I felt someone’s eyes on me… but when the song ended and I looked up, there was no one except the usual gapers. I waved and blew a kiss to a boy who couldn’t be more than 16 (he spilled his drink), then started to find the beat to the new song…

But something closed around my arm and yanked.

“ _Ouch_! Oh, hi, Jay. Aren’t the stars pretty tonight?”

“Having fun, Harley?” Jay was standing below me. He loosened his grip s and guided me off the table, turning to the other men. “Darling, isn’t she?” It wasn’t a question. As they nodded in agreement, he put an arm around my waist and ushered me off.

Once we were alone, my back was against a wall and my sunburn practically screamed on my skin.

“Have you _forgotten_ something, Harley?”

I held my head high, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I was going to fly,” I pouted. “You interrupted.”

“What in the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

I started to explain, but –

“No, I don’t care. I don’t need to know what happens in your little walnut-brain.”

_Rude._

“I don’t pay you to drink, or to dance. I _pay_ you to do whatever the _fuck_ I ask. So WHY are you not filling Mr. Wayne’s ear with your inane chatter right about now?”

“I’m not stupid Jay. He isn’t here.” I snapped a bit more than I meant to and I paid for it. Jay gripped my shoulder and spun me, hard, pointing a finger over my shoulder to the 2nd floor balcony, where a tall figure stood looking like royalty. “Oh. Well isn’t he handsome.”

Jay turned me back to face him. “Pull yourself together. Don’t fuck this up.”

_He’s so dramatic._

I shook my head back and took a breath. “Of course, Mistah Jay. Apologies. Do you have any idea what kinda gal he’d like best?”

“Do I need to do everything for you?”

“Of course not. Sorry. I’ll go now. Is my hair okay?”

He adjusted a curl. “Beautiful. Now, go. That’s my Harley-girl.”

Five minutes later I was climbing the stairs to the second floor, pushing through the crowd onto the balcony. I’d settled on bimbo. The rich types always seemed to go for bimbo – a nice middle ground ‘cuz they wouldn’t fall in love with me, but they thought I’d be an easy lay – so they’d let their guard down. Then I could manipulate ‘em without ‘em even realizing it. Bimbo was fun.

I skipped onto the balcony.

“Harley!”

 _Fuck._ It was Harvey. Again.

“You ran off on me. I had to drink both gins.”

“I know – sorry – look, Harv, I’m busy –”

I didn’t see Wayne anywhere _. Where WAS this guy?_

“Still looking for mystery man, then.”

“He was up here a minute ago,” I grumbled.

Harvey held a smug expression, looking off over the crowd like he was God. “If only I knew who you were looking for…”

_What a shithead._

“I don’t need your help.”

“Okay.” He turned to go back inside.

_Mistah Jay’s gonna be pissed._

I gave in, “shit, FINE, whatever,” and lowered my voice when Harvey came back. “Bruce Wayne. Ya’ know him?”

“You don’t?”

“Are ya’ gonna help me or not?”

“Jesus, you’re impatient. He went to the library.”

“The library?”

Harvey shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

_Shit._

I sighed. “Gimme your drink.”

“Get your own.” 

“HarVEEE. I can’t do the library sober.”

“You _aren’t_ sober,” he glared… _But… my pout is unmatchable. My lip does this soft quiver – it’s art_. He caved. “You’re unbearable,” and handed over the drink.

With a peck on his cheek and a “love ya!” I was back inside, headed towards the library and sipping slowly on Harvey’s Manhattan.

I needed it to last – because this drink was as much for show as it was for pleasure. If Wayne had gone to the library, of all places in Gatsby’s mansion, the bimbo wouldn’t do. He’d need his brain tickled before anything else – and for that, I had to put on quite a different hat.

Not literally. I wasn’t wearing a hat. I don’t particularly like hats – Ma used to say they looked funny cuz my skull was bigger than it should be. She must’a been right, cuz Jay says the same – that my brain must roll around up there in all the empty space.

Hats aside, the persona I slipped into as I entered the library was that of The Academic. I didn’t use her much, but we had fun every now and then. She gave me a challenge and I liked that.

He didn’t hear me come in. Wayne was halfway up a bookshelf ladder examining the “C’s” when I entered, and took a moment to observe.

He didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular. After skimming across a few titles he’d pick a hardback and let it fall open to any page and skim a section before closing it and repeating the process. He was gentle with the books.

_He’s got a nice ass. Maybe this will be fun. Ass._ _Ha! Harvey was right. I’m not sober._

I must’ve let out a giggle, because Wayne turned and saw me watching.

“Oh, excuse me, Miss.”

_Ass. Ass. Ass. PULL IT TOGETHER, Harley._

“Don’t stop on my account.”

I expected him to introduce himself when he stepped down from the ladder. But he just strolled to the “G” section and went to work again.

_That’s weird._

“I just had to get away from the noise, you know? So many people.”

He nodded, so I took a conservative sip of my drink and walked over.

I offered my hand… “Harleen Quinzel. I’m happy to see I’m not the only serious one here tonight.” …and he shook it. “Bruce Wayne.” But he shook it like it was a doorknob.

_Okay…_

“Looking for anything specific? I -- I’m familiar with the Dewey Decimal System.”

“These books aren’t numbered.”

_Shit. I’m off my game. Maybe I should stop drin--_

I took a drink.

“I always say -- books are the best company in all but… one… situation.”

Nothing.

 _What the fuck!? That line always works._ _Maybe he_ is _more of a bimbo guy._

I switched tactics and bopped over to him.

“So, Mr. Wayne, whassa guy like you doing here?”

“I was invited.” 

“Don’ be silly, Mistah Jay doesn’send out invitations.”

_Am I slurrin’? Thassokay. He won’notice._

“Ya… ya know what I think?”

My head was spinnin’ with the room, and honestly? I was at the end ‘a my rope. Time to put it all on the table.

“I think… you’re here for biznits. Bisnus. Business.”

He cleared his throat. “I think you should sit down, Miss Quinzel.”

I pushed him back against the bookshelves… and ran a finger down his tie… slowing the further down I got.

“Bruuuuce Waynnnnne. Brucey.”

“Miss Quinzel, I _must_ warn you –”

I leaned close to his ear.

“Is Brucey _dangerous_?”

I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes and thought – for a moment – I’d won him over. That was not the case.

Suddenly, something like claws were digging into my shoulder and a voice that hissed in my ear.

“Ex _cuse_ me, _MISS_ ,” said the voice.

I was yanked backward and spun with surprising strength. The woman in front of me was beautiful – her close-cropped dark hair accentuated dark, threatening eyes. But as she dug her fingers deeper into my arm…

“I don’t know who you think you are, but _blah blah blah blah….”_

I lost focus and didn’t hear anything she said. My gaze was fixed behind her -- on the red-head strolling disinterestedly into the library.

My mind went blank. Which just – doesn’t happen. Ever. In that moment, there was nothing else. Just her legs, her hips, her hand pushing aside her hair.

“Really, Selina, I think I’ve seen enough – “

Green eyes met mine and my stomach turned over. She froze for a moment…

…Then crossed the room, closing the distance between us.

“God, are you even _listening_?” I realized the other woman still had a grip on my arm and had, apparently, been talking to me.

I didn’t even try to lie. “No. And watch-it, bucko, I’ve gotta sunburn.”

She let go of my arm and took Bruce’s instead, pulling him into a long kiss and sending a very clear message -- _he’s taken._

“Message received,” I mumbled -- in truth not giving a single shit -- because the woman in the green dress was now standing only an arm’s length away.

I was suddenly self-conscious. She was surveying me from a six-inch height advantage, and I realized just how much alcohol I’d consumed. The room was growing fuzzy and I was swaying along with it.

_Shit. I – I’m drunk. Factual. Very. She can tell. I know everybody but not her. She’s new. Fuck, I think I’m staring. Am I staring? Yes, I am. Don’t be a freak, Quinn, say something._

I smiled. 

“Hi.”

And then I threw up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this was a slow burn? Can you tell I’m working out pandemic anxiety? It’s fine. This was an extremely fun chapter to write, so I hope y’all liked it! Lemme know whatcha think.


	3. Chapter 3: We've Met Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the pile of weeds next to me grew, my mind snapped to the night before. Despite Selina’s assurances otherwise, the party in West Egg had been absolutely dreadful and the incident with her had been the cherry on top of the proverbial shit-sundae. 
> 
> And yes, I’d watched her dance earlier that evening. But everyone was – she was on a table – and quite hard to miss. And yes, there was a brief moment where I thought she winked in my direction, but it was the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay -- I would say I'll try to upload more frequently but that would be a hopeful lie. Writing this is how I'm de-stressing so if I pressure myself, it would sort of defeat the purpose and I wouldn't enjoy writing it. 
> 
> Also, no beta and I'm an awful proofreader -- hopefully it's readable.

_Shit._

Somethin’, somewhere, was making noise. A loud banging. I moved to turn my head in its direction…

_What… no. Shit. No moving. Moving hurts._

I tried to swallow, but my throat was sandpaper.

_How much did I drink?_

I flipped my pillow to the cool side and willed myself to go back to sleep. I thought I could ignore the sound if I tried hard enough, but its relentless POUNDING just made the blood in my head throb more. At some point I realized the noise was coming from my front door. I thought it was just my daily fruit delivery. It was not. 

“HARLEY!” 

_Oh that’s nice. Jay came ‘ta thank me for my good job last night. I blew Mr. Wayne’s socks off…_

“HARLEY! Wake the FUCK up!"

_That’s weird. He doesn’t sound happy._

“You better be DEAD in there!"

_Not happy. Did Mr. Wayne… how’d that go again? And when did I get back home…?_

I head his footsteps on the stone path and breathed a sigh of relief… He’d given up. I could sleep again… I’d give him a few hours to cool down… then go up to the house –

The scream was louder this time – and followed by the sound of cracking glass. 

“HARLEY!”

My eyes flew open and my stomach leapt into my throat as I jerked up out of bed with a yelp.

Jay’s face was pressed against the (now cracked) window next to my bed, leering angrily at me. 

“Open the door, Harley!”

He was at the side door next to my bedroom now. I didn’t use that door often, ‘cuz led to the tree grove, which I didn’t like so much. I mean it was a nice, pretty and all, but there was nothing there for me. The trees and their canopy absorbed sound in a sort of way that haunted me… in the trees I was truly alone with my thoughts, and I couldn’t stand it. So anyway, I never used that door, because I was always headed in the opposite direction – towards Jay’s mansion. 

I gave as much of a nod as I could and braced myself to get up.

“Just a sec, Mistah Jay…”

_I can do this. It’s fine. It’s just a few feet away… I just have to…_

I pushed myself up from the mattress and found my footing, even though the floor felt like it was moving. I paused at the bedpost for a second to brace myself and breathe through the nausea eatin’ at my stomach --

“NOW!”

He pushed past me as soon as I opened the door, running his hand through slick hair. Jay’s hair always had ‘ta be perfect. I think he could sense the individual hairs and knew when one was getting’ frisky and outta line. It was like that with him for lots of things – Jay liked things _just so_ and no way else.

And that morning, I was not _just so._ I was frozen for a moment as he surveyed me a-- nd I tried to grow bigger even though I could feel myself shrinking. Finally, he spoke.

“Put some goddamn clothes on.”

_Thank God._

I scurried behind the white room divider by my closet. Before I could pick something out, more instructions came.

“Put on something nice. Not revealing like that harlot’s number from last night.”

_He doesn’t sound mad anymore. Maybe he just wanted’ta see me and got impatient. Maybe --_

“We goin’ somewhere fancy, Mistah Jay?” I asked, hoping. He didn’t take me out much. Strictly speaking I was an employee, but sometimes…

I shifted through the cotton sundresses. “You want me to wear white? Or… pink! Ooooh or this blue one is nice too – if we’re goin’ to the city then I’ll need –”

The room divider rattled as he shoved it aside. 

I yelped, gripping my now removed nightgown against my skin. From the look on his face, I knew we weren’t going to the city.

He took slow, methodical steps towards me, his voice at a whisper… “Must I do _everything_ , Harley?”

“I just need to know where we’re goin’ so I can wear the right thing,” I murmured.

“ _We_ are not going anywhere, Harley-girl.” He receded back to the chair and I pulled the divider back between us as he continued. “ _You…_ are going to the Wayne residence over in East Egg to clean up your mess.”

I swallowed. “Mess?” 

“Oh, yes. You see -- I met Mr. Wayne when he alerted me there was a passed-out dame in my library.”

At this point I’d settled on the white cotton shift and was pullin’ it over my head as I listened to him explain my indiscretions from the night before. After a while his voice became a low drone in the background while I felt the fabric fall over my skin…

 _I really_ did _get drunk last night. I don’t remember a thing except dancin’ with Harvey. And somewhere high up. When did I go to the library? I hate the library._

I leaned against the wall and tried to remember. I tried to reach through to the echoes, to grasp any image from the night before. But… the only thing I could see was green.

_Green? I was in the library. What’s green in the library? I must’ve passed out on the grass or somethin’. Green. Shit, I don’t know._

Suddenly, Jay’s voice came out of the fog. “You made a real fool of yourself."

He was back behind the divider again now, his grimace turned into a wide grin. 

My stomach dropped and my hands went numb. If I’d made a scene and a mess of the night – especially in front of one of his guests… well... I’d seen Jay hurt people for… much, much less. My mouth felt like it was full of sand and all I could do was wait for him to continue.

“You’re lucky Harvey was there, he kept me from doing anything _dramatic_. And in fact, pointed out that it was possible to turn the incident in our favor.”

“What – what happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. What you’re gonna do now is go apologize. You’re indebted to Mr. Wayne now, see. So you have an excuse to go over there and scope out his place. And if you can… lay on that charm and get him to agree to a meeting.”

He continued on, tellin’ me the plan while I choked down stale crackers and water, trying still to remember the night before but comin’ up short. I listened to him now, intent on not fucking it all up for a second time.

Twenty minutes later, I was on the road to West Egg. Jay wouldn’t let me drive his new yellow coupe, so I was stuck some old rusty thing that popped real loud whenever it switched gears. 

Which made it a teensy bit awkward when I turned into Wayne’s driveway.

•••

I’d started the morning early, rising before Bruce and Selina so I’d have time to walk the grounds by myself to see what I was getting into.

When I resisted Selina’s initial offer to spend the summer in Gotham, citing financial reasons, she promptly fired their gardener and hired me instead. I felt guilty about that and hoped he had found other employment. 

But the guilt I felt was soundly overshadowed by the temptation of designing and maintaining the Wayne estate. The property was beautiful. Laced with history you could almost feel along the old brick walkways and enchanting in the sort of way that made you feel as if you’d fallen into a painting.

I walked the entire perimeter twice, which took much longer than I expected. Beyond the house, there was the beach, and the boathouse. Then the gardens, the stables, the walking paths and white painted gazebos that sparkled in the night. It felt more holiday resort than home -- and I thought it was a bit much.

After my initial once-over, I knew I needed a clean slate. For what I wanted to do – all the weeds and dead growth and disagreeable flowers would have to go. I slid on my garden clothes and tied up my hair, deciding to begin at the front gates.

I think best when my hands are in the earth.

_The soil seems decent enough. Their old man knew what he was doing. Could be better, though… manure. I’ll track down the stable hand this afternoon._

_God, how big of a staff do they have? In the house alone – there’s Alfred, of course. And I_ know _Selina doesn’t do the cooking. And she said a maid would take care of my dress. I hope it doesn’t stain. Hell, I hope it doesn’t smell. That woman -- _

As the pile of weeds next to me grew, my mind snapped to the night before. Despite Selina’s assurances otherwise, the party in West Egg had been absolutely dreadful and the incident with _her_ had been the cherry on top of the proverbial shit-sundae.

And yes, I’d watched her dance earlier that evening. But everyone was – she was on a table – and quite hard to miss. And yes, there was a brief moment where I thought she winked in my direction, but it was the light. And then she was rushed off, rather intimately, by our host. So, I’d forgotten about her.

I found a spot near the garden that suited me. It was far enough away that the band wasn’t so deafeningly loud, and I wouldn’t be asked to dance by a continuous stream of itchy stockbrokers. The garden itself left much to be desired. I was surprised to find it so neglected, as Gatsby seemed to have paid meticulous detail to every other aspect of his property. It would’ve been a nice spot for lovers to come… to exchange shy glances and delicate kisses… but the roses were dead and the gate was rusted.

I stayed there, wondering what the summer might bring. Already, I was tired from the constant human interaction.

_It’s only three months. I can survive for three months. It’s one season. It’s just a summer._

I could see the water from where I was and realized by the moon’s reflection that it must be past one AM. I would drag Selina out if I had to – I needed to sleep.

So I went back to the house to search for Selina. And then I found her. And then… the library happened.

_The way she crashed into me – almost threw me over, that wave of perfume and then --_

My hands dug into the earth below – centering me, as much as possible, while the scene played on a loop in my mind.

_She’d been flirting with Bruce. And she was drunker than drunk. Low-class, as mother would say… But something was – different. The others, everyone else was drunk too. But she didn’t seem… I don’t know. That -- I was – it was horrible. Mortifying. I hope I handled it correctly. But Selina promised I don’t have to go back. Thank God. It’s done. I can forget about it. Forget about it, Pamela._

**BANG! BANGBANGBANG!**

I thought I was being shot at.

**BANG!**

I threw myself down -- literally hit the deck – into the dirt.

But then I heard an engine. And a woman laughing. When I looked up, a bright blue coupe was rolling up the drive – and _she_ was driving it.

_Oh, fuck me with a spade. Fuck._

She parked as I dusted myself off, grimacing as I realized another pair of clothes was now covered in filth.

“Mornin’!” She slammed the car door shut and bounced over. I had to squint to see her through the bright sunlight – and realized she’d reached out a hand. “I’m Harleen. You can call me Harley though. What’cha workin’ on?”

I took it. “I’m weeding.”

"Dandelions ain't weeds." 

"Yes, they are."

"No they're not. They're real pretty."

_We’re still shaking hands. Let go of her hand._

I yanked my arm away.

"Just because -- by definition, they are. They are weeds." I took a breath, trying to move on. "Anyway. I see you're feeling better. 

Her head tilted in confusion. “What’cha mean?”

_She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember literally puking all over you._

“We met last night.”

“We did?”

I managed to choke out a response. “Unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Her smile faltered, but it was only a fraction of a second before the grin was back. “Well, lucky me, ‘cuz I get ‘ta meet ya again…”

“Pamela.”

She giggled – and my stomach dropped. “So, Pam-e-la… how’d we meet?”

“You…” _Stop looking at me._ “You threw up. On my dress. On me.”

Her mouth opened and shut a few times before finding words – clearly something that was far from the norm with her. “Oh. Well… I… What color was it?”

_What? What did she just say?_

“The dress. What color?” She repeated. 

The question took a second to register, since it wasn’t the apology I was expecting.

“Green.”

“That makes sense.” She explained, “I’ve been seein’ green all mornin’. And not the jealous kind. Just like – “

She flitted her hands in the air around her head… “Green.”

_What the hell is she doing?_

I nodded, completely faking understanding the gestures. 

In turn, she smiled. And said, “You’re real pretty.”

_What? What the fuck. How do I respond to that? Oh, god, please stop looking at me. I need to say something. Anything._

“Yes.”

_NOT THAT -- WHAT THE HELL? Shit. I want to die. Why doesn’t she say something? She’s just staring at me with that grin – Fuck the estate. I should go back to Louisville. Fuck Selina. She didn’t tell me there would be people in Gotham_

“Is this a staring contest?” Selina’s voice broke me out of the trance. She’d come down from the house, ice-cool glass of liquor in hand _._

I cleared my throat. “No. We were just – “

“Just chattin’!” she finished the sentence I couldn’t and beamed at Selina. “I’m Harleen.”

Selina ran her eyes over Harleen, taking a long sip of her drink before continuing. “And what might you be doing here?”

She straightened her dress. “I – Mistah Jay sent me over. He said I messed up last night and I guess…” She turned to look at me, “I guess the apology is for you.”

_My mouth is open and nothing is coming out. Again. Why is she in pigtails?_

Selina cleared her throat. “She accepts.”

“Wait, no I -- ”

She ignored me, continuing: “But your apology should actually be for me. As you had your hands all over something of _mine_ last night.”

Harleen’s eyes flicked between us with a hint of confusion. “Yours – Pamela?”

I choked – and tried to clear my throat -- 

“Oh Lord, dear, no. Bruce. He was impressed with your perseverance.”

But the scratch didn’t go away –

“Right – of course. Well, I’m persistent! That’s me. But I – I am sorry. I didn’t know he was married.” Harleen was trying, politely, to ignore me as I fell completely into the coughing fit --

“It’s alright, darling. I’m not threatened by other women. And -- we’re not married.”

“Oh. How modern.”

_STOP. COUGHING. STOP. COUGHING._

“And you? Any man?”

“No. No men. Man.”

My body wretched with a cough and I gasped for breath before it happened again. I heard Harleen mumble, “is she alright?” and then felt Selina’s hand on my back.

“Jesus, Pam. Have a drink.” She shoved the glass into my hand and I threw it back – only to have the STRAIGHT FUCKING BOURBON burn my throat and cause another cough.

But, after a moment, the liquid worked and the scratch subsided. I gestured as best I could to the flowers I’d been working on.

“Pollen,” I croaked out.

I could feel their gazes on me – Selina’s amused and Harleen’s concerned. I wanted to shrink back into the ground – five minutes ago I’d been at peace with the green, focused on the flowers and not worried about –

“Besides apologizing for drunken mistakes, what else are you doing today?” Selina asked.

_No. No, Selina. NO._

“Please, call me Harley. And I ain’t got a thing planned.”

“Would you like to stay for lunch, Harley?”

I was going to murder Selina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listen close you can almost hear Pam's brain imploding 
> 
> Lemme know what y'all think -- what's working for you, what's not, what you wanna see more of!


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